


A Day's Work

by MelissaTreglia



Category: A Heist with Markiplier (2019), Real Person Fiction, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Darkiplier Mark Fischbach, Gen, House Flipper, Implied YNcy, Yancy Iplier - Freeform, parole, third sunday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23838655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelissaTreglia/pseuds/MelissaTreglia
Summary: Yancy is released from prison on parole into a work program. While trying to straighten out his new home and life, he receives an unexpected visitor.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/You
Kudos: 29





	A Day's Work

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Mark’s play of “House Flipper”, where he briefly uses his Yancy voice. It's sort of a sidequel to my [Darkness Verse](https://archiveofourown.org/series/805503) series, but you needn't have read that to enjoy this.
> 
> (Also, AO3 needs to have better character tags for Markiplier fanfics.)

Actually being on parole was strange. At least, at first.

For years, he'd been confined to a small cell that offered no privacy. And when he saw the run-down one-room cabin in the middle of all those fancy houses, he knew he'd found a home. The computer that waited for him was a five-year-old laptop that perched patiently for him on top of the beat-up metal desk. The full-size bed had to go, though. He didn't think having a bed that big would feel comfortable.

But he approached the laptop and opened his state-provided email account. A list of local jobs for moving furniture, cleaning houses and gardening awaited him -- requests made by various homeowners that had been forwarded to him. This was a golden opportunity to prove himself. And maybe, just maybe... working an honest job and tidying up around here meant he'd see his friend again.

They'd left him behind, but he knew they didn't forget him. After all, they'd come to visit him every third Sunday of each month. And those brief talks they'd had (with the pane of glass between them, and ancient phone handsets poised at their ears) made him feel less lonely while he had been in the ol' _hoosegow_.

He wanted them to come over, maybe to stay, but it had to look more like home first.

After swiping the garbage that littered the floor into the trash, giving everything a proper dusting, sweeping and mopping the floor, making the bed, and setting the broken kitchenette by the curb, he went back to scrolling through the list of jobs.

_Some decent pay oughta help put things right around here._

* * *

He came home and dropped exhaustedly into the too-big bed. It had been a long day, but he knew it had to be worth it. These rich yahoos turned out to be absolute _pigs_ , letting their garbage accumulate willy-nilly. All because they knew someone else would be there to pick it up rather than themselves cleaning up their own messes.

_Huh. Guess money didn't buy common sense, after all._

* * *

A few more days of working on these jobs, and he had some money to spend. So he took the day off, dedicating it to rearranging his cabin. The bed -- which was still in fine-enough shape to be useful -- was given to another parolee who lacked a decent bed.

He bought a bunk bed to replace it. A simple, sturdy, steel affair that felt more homey to him, and a bed-side table tall enough to be reached from the top bunk. He also got himself a new computer chair, one that felt more comfortable to sit in.

_That was more like it._

For now, he was happy to eat out -- hell, now that he was working, he could afford some nice, greasy burgers at the local diner -- but he planned to eventually add a new kitchenette. Learning to cook would make himself more useful 'round the house, and wouldn't that be impressive to his friend?

He missed them horribly. But it wasn't the third Sunday yet. They'd swing by then, he was sure. It was tradition now.

He couldn't wait.

* * *

Three more days of work and then, around sunset, there was a polite knock on the door. It startled him, as he really wasn't expecting anybody to come see him this early on in the month. He opened the door and a well-dressed man with a rather imposing sense of presence was revealed.

"Uh, hullo, Mr. Dark. Didn't expect youse to drop by."

" _ **Of course not, Yancy, but I'll only be a moment. May I come in?**_ "

"Sure, sure."

Yancy immediately moved out of the way as Dark entered. Dark stepped in, giving the single room cabin a once-over, and briefly wrinkling His nose at how bare and simplistic it was. Not unlike the prison Yancy had left behind. Mr. Dark, he knew, had much fancier tastes.

"I know it don't look like much, yet. But I'm working on it," Yancy said, somewhat defensively.

" _ **That's quite alright. I'm sure it will be quite appropriate to your own tastes once you've completed whatever changes you intend,**_ " Dark replied soothingly. Deliberately changing the subject, He added, " _ **I've heard good things about you, that you're working very hard. You've made quite a name for yourself already. I imagine more opportunities will be coming in for you very soon.**_ "

"Aww, I 'ppreciate that, Mr. Dark. I'm just trying to get things nice and homey, and do an honest day's work."

" _ **I am glad to hear that. Not everyone has great ambitions. Some, like you, have small goals that are just as worthy.**_ "

Yancy scratched his head. He wasn't quite sure what to make of that statement, but it sounded like it was meant to be a compliment. Though, with Mr. Dark's often caustic and detached delivery, it was hard to tell.

" _ **I came here to remind you of our agreement.**_ "

"Yeah, of course. I haven't forgotten, Mr. Dark. And I 'ppreciate that youse took a chance on me, with this whole, uh... work... parole... business."

" _ **Of course. We're an equal-opportunity employer. Frankly, if we held our employees' past records against them, we'd have to fire half of our staff.**_ "

Yancy grinned at that in spite of himself. "Sounds like I'm in good company."

" _ **Very good,**_ " Dark agreed, chuckling.

"I'm guessing youse don't often make house calls, though."

" _ **No, indeed,**_ " Dark agreed. " _ **But I do choose to keep an eye on My investments. I hope that you, as your former warden would say, do Me proud, Yancy. I have great plans for you.**_ "

Yancy grinned and gave a snappy salute, standing a little taller. "T'anks, Mr. Dark. I won't let youse down."

" _ **Good to know,**_ " He rumbled calmly. " _ **Now, I'll leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening. Sweet dreams.**_ "

And with that, Dark was gone. Not by the door, rather He simply disappeared. _Huh. How'd he do that?_ But it didn't really matter _that_ much, to figure that mystery out. Dark was an enigma, and Yancy had learned a long time ago that some questions were better left unanswered.

What really mattered was Yancy getting to see his friend on the third Sunday. He'd have plenty of time yet to straighten things out, make this place look real nice for them.

He turned out the light and stretched out on the bottom bunk, feeling more content than he had in a long time. Yeah, the third Sunday was always pretty good to him.

He couldn’t wait.


End file.
